


i'd eat peaches every day

by achilleees



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Secret Identity, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-08
Updated: 2017-12-08
Packaged: 2019-02-12 05:10:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12952002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/achilleees/pseuds/achilleees
Summary: jzimmerman@samwell.edu: Right, yes, ignore me. Remember that my mother is really sweet and proper and deserves all happiness even if her son is a twat.theunderbaker@underthecounter.com: Less so than I’d realized. I might have to join the lovelorn masses after this exchange, pretty boy. XOXOXO.jzimmerman@samwell.edu: Who are you?He didn’t get anything back, and he didn’t expect to, but he had to ask, all the same.





	i'd eat peaches every day

**Author's Note:**

> there's a whole story behind my writing this fic but it's not worth getting into here. basically tho this is ridiculously AU y'all. jack is a lax bro the same academic year as bitty. he never played hockey seriously. that's all you need to know.

“That is the most beautiful fucking cake I have ever seen in my entire life,” April said.

Naturally, everyone looked over at the very pleased March, who was carrying the cake onto the back deck like it was the Holy Grail.

It was pretty extravagant, Jack had to admit. A perfect cylinder of pristine white frosting flecked with bits of real strawberry, ringed on top with rosettes of swirled red and white, three strawberries nestled at the center.

“Under the Counter strikes again,” said Shitty.

“What?” said Lardo.

“The love of Holster’s life resides somewhere at this school, but his identity remains a mystery,” April deadpanned. “Truly, it’s a tragedy for the ages.”

Holster sighed glumly.

“Seriously, what?” Lardo said.

“Under the Counter,” Shitty said. “Someone at this school bakes and sells cakes, you buy them on the website. But no one knows who it is. It popped up sometime last year and there’s already warning posts about how the baker is graduating this May.”

“Why all the secrecy?” Wicks said.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Holster said. “If anyone knew, they would be demanding he bakes for them all the time.”

“I guess…?” Lardo said.

March nodded. “No, seriously, that’s what his first blog post was about. He said in high school, as soon as anyone saw his cakes they started badgering him about them. And it’s well-meaning, usually people offer to pay him. But he likes to work on his own schedule and he hates how guilty he feels turning people down. So now it’s a secret side gig, where he only takes as many commissions as he wants, and gets to fill as much of his own time as he wants with it.”

“Huh,” Lardo said.

“Just cakes?” Ollie asked.

“Mostly things with frosting, that’s where his artistic side comes out,” Holster said. “He says cookies and bars have an upper limit on beauty, so he prefers cakes, cupcakes, that kind of thing.”

“It’s almost too pretty to eat,” Lardo said.

“Whoa now, let’s not get crazy,” Holster said quickly.

 

Jack ran his hand along the spines of the library books as he scanned through the stacks, rounding the shelf to search the other side. He smiled when he found the source of the humming there, hunched over a study carrel and bobbing his head to whatever pop earworm was playing on his earbuds.

Bittle always did have trash taste in music.

Jack turned back to the shelf and kept searching, kneeling down to look over the bottom shelf. Finally, he found his book, pulling it out and straightening up.

“Lord!” Bitty said, a little too loud, startling so violently he tipped over his thermos and had to scramble to catch it.

“Hey,” Jack said.

Bitty popped out his earbuds. “How long have you been there?” he said, hands on his hips. “You scared me half to death!”

Jack checked his watch.

“That wasn’t a literal question,” Bitty said.

“Noted,” Jack said. “Sorry to scare you half to death.”

Bitty wrinkled his nose cutely. “Some of us are too busy at work on our very important politics papers to notice the enormous lax bros looming loomily behind us, thanks.”

“Loomily?” Jack said.

“Don’t start with me, Zimmermann,” Bitty said, throwing a pencil at him.

Jack caught the pencil and carried it back to him, taking the chance to look over his shoulder at the notebook open in front of him and the doodles crowded in the margins. “Yeah, I can see how busy at work you are,” he said dryly. “Is Batman fighting a dinosaur a metaphor for something?”

“Yes, it’s a metaphor for _I invite you to shut your face_ ,” Bitty said. “Do you need something, or are you just here to loom and make snide comments?”

Jack chuckled. “I’m all set,” he said, waving his book at Bitty. “Good luck against Vassar this weekend.”

“Thanks, you too,” Bitty said, smiling at him. Then he groaned and covered his face when he realized that hadn’t made sense. “Also, leave me to die.”

“Will do,” Jack said, chuckling more and walking away.

He glanced back at the door and saw Bitty had gone back to bobbing his head and doodling, with a few bonus jazz hands thrown in. Jack didn’t stop smiling for minutes afterwards.

 

He’d stopped smiling by the time he was sitting in a meeting with his academic adviser, though.

“Jack, I don’t want you to feel like I’m pressuring you,” Murray said gently. “Plenty of seniors don’t have any idea what they’re doing with their futures, and that’s okay. I’d go so far as to say that’s healthy – no one expects you to have your entire life planned out at this point.”

“I guess,” Jack said, but he couldn’t help but think of Shitty’s law school applications and feel desperately outclassed.

“Do you still feel comfortable with what we discussed before?” Murray said.

Jack shrugged tersely. Objectively, he recognized the wisdom in Murray’s suggestion. Jack worked better with concrete plans, and he hated the feeling of being spread too thin. When Murray had suggested he deliberately postpone starting job applications until the summer after graduation, Jack had known that it would be the best choice for him. Focus on his studies, graduate, move back in with his parents and then devote himself fully to the job search – it made sense.

Still, he couldn’t help but look around at all his friends planning their futures while passing their classes seemingly effortlessly and think… _How come it wasn’t that easy for him_?

“I guess,” he said.

“You have so many options, and frankly, I can see how that would be a little overwhelming,” Murray said. “With your talent, you could play lacrosse professionally, you could try your hand at making a career of your photography, you could go into academia, you could follow your father into the world of sports management…”

Jack instinctively grimaced.

Murray winced an apology. “My only point is, just because you decided not to pursue hockey professionally doesn’t mean that door is completely closed for you. But too many options can feel as stifling as having too few. I still think it’s wise to keep from making concrete plans for your future until the summer, but it’s never to early to start brainstorming options.” He looked at Jack, gaze piercing. “What are your priorities? Where do you see yourself in 10 years? What are you prepared to do now to put yourself in a position to get there?”

Talk about fucking pressure.

“I’ll think about it,” Jack mumbled.

“Take your time,” Murray said. “No rush.”

“Yeah,” Jack said.

 

Jack went home for the weekend, which he did from time to time when he needed to wind down and relax. This time, he stepped into the house just in time to hear his mother curse and hurl the cordless phone into the wall, leaving a black scuff.

He stared.

“Oh, Jack!” she said, noticing him. She put her hands to her face, embarrassed. “I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have lost my temper.”

“What happened?” Jack said.

“It’s stupid,” Alicia said. “I’ve called every bakery in town about baking a cake for your father’s birthday party and none of them are willing to work with me about what I want. And you know his mother will be coming, and if I don’t have something impressive to show…”

Jack grimaced. “What are you looking for?”

“A two-tier watercolor drip cake inspired by Monet’s Water Lilies,” Alicia said.

Jack blinked.

“You know that your grandmother makes me go a little crazy,” Alicia said.

“A little,” Jack deadpanned. “I think I know someone who could do it, though.”

Alicia spun. “Really? For next Saturday?”

Jack took a step back. “Uh, I don’t know, maybe?”

“Oh, could you try, please?” Alicia said. “I know I’m crazy, just… Please? My sanity is on the line here.”

“Uh,” Jack said. “Okay. I’ll… try.”

Alicia beamed.

 

Jack opened underthecounter.com and went to the Requests page. He filled in the details and went through all the various selections in the dropdown menu, then got to the optional _Anything else I should know_? and paused.

He chewed his lip.

 _My father is a former hockey player (you can tell I’m really good at this anonymous thing) and his birthday party is coming up next Saturday. There’s going to be dozens of guests of varying importance, but the only one that matters to my mother is my father’s mother. Every time she comes, she makes my mother feel stupid and small: she does all the cooking because (unspoken) my mother’s cooking isn’t good enough; she insists on entirely replacing my wardrobe because (unspoken) my mother’s choices aren’t good enough; she tells my mother to put on makeup when she’s not wearing it and to take it off when she is. She tried to talk my father out of his engagement on their wedding night. Basically my mother’s sanity hinges on this outrageous cake that she’s projecting all her anxieties on. TL;DR: Please make this cake. I know it’s insane. I’ll pay whatever you want. My mother really needs to win this one_.

He submitted the request. “Fingers crossed,” he muttered to himself.

Barely two minutes later, his email pinged with a response.

_theunderbaker@underthecounter.com_ _: The context reads Jack Zimmermann but the writing style definitively does not?? I’ll take the gig. Tell your mom I’m going to blow her fucking socks off (only don’t tell her that, your mom has always seemed really sweet and proper)._

_jzimmerman@samwell.edu_ _: Thank you so fucking much._

_jzimmerman@samwell.edu_ _: Also I know I shouldn’t be biting the hand that’s literally feeding me but isn’t underbaking a bad thing?_

_theunderbaker@underthecounter.com_ _: Goddamn son learn how to pick your battles._

_theunderbaker@underthecounter.com_ : _I just really liked the pun okay??? DID I ASK YOU???_

_jzimmerman@samwell.edu_ _: Right, yes, ignore me. Remember that my mother is really sweet and proper and deserves all happiness even if her son is a twat._

_theunderbaker@underthecounter.com_ : _Less so than I’d realized. I might have to join the lovelorn masses after this exchange, pretty boy. XOXOXO._

_jzimmerman@samwell.edu_ _: Who are you?_

He didn’t get anything back, and he didn’t expect to, but he had to ask, all the same.

 

The day of the party came, and Alicia cornered Jack in the living room while he was reading on the couch. “Where’s the cake?” she said.

“Uh,” Jack said.

Alicia went dead white. “You forgot the cake?”

“No!” Jack said. “I got the cake. I just… don’t know where it is.”

Alicia staggered back.

“I’ll get the cake!” Jack said, grabbing for his phone. He texted March.

_This Under the Counter thing - how am I supposed to acquire the cake given the whole veil of secrecy thing?_

March texted back only a minute later, thank god. _He has stooges sworn to secrecy deliver them for him. He’ll text you for details when he’s ready to bring it over_.

 _Got it,_ Jack texted back.

“I, uh, I’ve got the cake,” Jack said.

“Where?” Alicia said, sounding more than a little… frenzied.

“It’s en route,” Jack said. He was taking a gamble here, and he really hoped it paid off, but it didn’t seem like it would do his mother any good to let on the truth of the matter.

Thankfully, it wasn’t long before Jack’s phone rang. He blinked at the caller ID.

“Dex?” he said.

“Where am I taking this monstrosity?” Dex grunted. “Better answer fast before I drop it.”

“Shit, are you at my house?” Jack said, lifting the front curtain and peering out. He scrambled to open the door. “Bring it inside, I’ll show you the dessert table.”

The thing Dex carried inside could hardly be considered a cake. It was a staggering behemoth of artistry, a masterpiece of confectionery and cream. Jack had never seen a green cake before, but somehow this one worked, maybe because it wasn’t just green - it was dappled white and blue and green like light scattering over a still pond, with pale pink drip-work and an ornate latticework of sugar-spun lilies cascading down one side. It was so beautiful it was ostentatious, impossible to look away from.

“It tastes good, too,” Dex said smugly. “He let me eat the samples.”

“What’s the filling?” Jack said.

“Sour cherry curd and dark chocolate ganache,” Dex said. “The cake is rosewater.”

“Holy fuck,” Jack said.

“Pretty much,” Dex agreed.

“Hang on,” Jack said, and dug into his wallet, pulling out a wad of twenties. “Make sure half of it gets to him, yeah?” He handed it over.

“Will do,” Dex said, pocketing it. “Have fun with your shindig, man.”

Jack was staring at the cake as Dex left, and still staring when his mother came in.

“Jack?” she said, then saw the cake. She clapped her hands over her mouth. “Oh my god,” she said.

“Are you crying?” Jack said.

“Oh my god,” she said again, eyes spilling over with tears.

 

_ jzimmerman@samwell.edu : My mom cried when she saw the cake. It’s all anyone at the party could talk about. Even my grandmother gushed over it. I gave no fewer than 24 people the URL for your site. And I know it’s your job, but you went above and beyond. I can’t imagine how many hours of work went into that, but if it matters, the look on my mom’s face made me think it was worth it, I don’t know about you. _

_Anyway, if there’s ever an obstacle in your path that knowing Jack Zimmermann would help knock out of the way, call me up. I mean it. I owe you big._

_jzimmerman@samwell.edu_ _: Oh, and my last question stands._

_theunderbaker@underthecounter.com_ _: I’m glad._

_theunderbaker@underthecounter.com_ _: You’ve got my number ~_

 

 _You’ve got my number._ What did that mean? Was it literal? Was he saying his number was already somehow in Jack’s phone - that they were friends and he didn’t realize it?

Or was he just offering to make another cake for him if the occasion arose for it again? Jack had his number for the next time his mother’s sanity hinged on a baked good for a party.

Or maybe he meant it metaphorically. Jack had him all figured out, he had his number. But that didn’t make sense, did it? If anything, he had _Jack’s_ number. Jack owed him, he had Jack pinned.

He spent days chewing on it, to no avail.

 

When Jack’s philosophy class let out, March was waiting to pounce. She jumped up and thrust something into his hands. “Traitor! How could you?”

Jack looked down at the school newspaper she’d handed him. “What?”

“It’s rude, you know, not to tell April and I when you go off seducing other people,” she said, eyes twinkling.

Jack looked at the regular interview column on the second page.

_We go Under the Counter with the UnderBaker_

_By now, no one at Samwell doesn’t know about our notorious masked baker, the culinary marvel behind the genius creations of underthecounter.com. He hit the headlines in the local news recently with the two-tiered Water Lilies drip cake featured at a birthday party for former NHL superstar Bob Zimmermann (pictured), but even before then he was wowing our taste buds at events across Samwell._

_We’ve managed to score an interview with the hottest rising star in town, under the condition of anonymity. No worries, dude - your secret is safe with us! But if it doesn’t give away too much to say… This kid is way too cute to be this talented. It’s not even fair._

Jack looked up. “What are you talking about?”

“Keep reading,” she said. “At the end.”

He skimmed the article. He would have to come back and read it more carefully, because this boy was interesting him more and more, but the way March was watching him read psyched him out and he wanted to get rid of her.

 **_Any girls in the picture? Or boys, if that’s your thing_** **.**

_No boys. Single, baby._

**_You know, since we’re staying anonymous here, I think you owe us a little hot gossip to make it worth our while. What’s the point of being anonymous if there’s no dirt?_ **

_Is that a question?_

**_Any boys you WANT to be in the picture?_ **

_Ooh, hm. Okay, no judging, but… Jack Zimmermann._

**_You and every girl in school._ **

_I know, I know, it’s such a cliché. Actually, for two years, I didn’t get what the fuss was about. He’s super pretty but I don’t usually go for the stoic act. But I talked to him a bit when he was ordering the cake for the party, and… I don’t know. I guess I get the appeal now._

**_Let me just say, I think everyone at Samwell would support that. The heartthrob and the enigma, our two most beloved icons… so much delicious drama. We ship it._ **

_I do know him separately from my alter ego, so I guess it’s not the craziest idea._

**_Hey Jack, if you read this and there’s a guy in your life who you like-like but are holding off on asking out for whatever reason… Maybe take this as a sign?_ **

“Oh,” Jack breathed out, lifting the paper a little closer to his face.

 

“Dex!” Jack called across the quad, breaking into a jog to catch up with him.

Dex turned and saw him. By the time Jack got there, he was grinning. “He called this, you know,” he said. “He said you were gonna hit me up for the interrogation soon enough.”

“He’s wrong,” Jack said. “I’m not here to interrogate you.”

“Oh?” Dex raised his eyebrows.

“Can you pass something along for me though?” Jack unzipped his backpack and pulled out a brown box. “Just give it to him for me.”

“Oh,” Dex said. “Sure.” He took the box. “What is it?”

“It’s my move,” Jack said. He started to walk backwards back towards the Sci-Li. “He’ll get it.”

 

That evening, his phone vibrated with a notification. He opened his email.

_theunderbaker@underthecounter.com:_ _ARE YOU SEDUCING ME WITH WUSTHOFS? THIS IS SO UNCOOL._

_jzimmerman@samwell.edu_ _: Is it working?_

_theunderbaker@underthecounter.com_ _: Marry meeeeee_

_jzimmerman@samwell.edu_ _: Going to be kind of awkward when you show up in a full burqa to the wedding._

_jzimmerman@samwell.edu_ _: Who are you? How many times do I have to ask?_

_jzimmerman@samwell.edu_ _: If this is a test, it’s not fair._

_theunderbaker@underthecounter.com_ : _It’s not a test. I kind of messed up though._

_jzimmerman@samwell.edu_ _: ?_

_theunderbaker@underthecounter.com_ _: I should have said something earlier. But it’s March in my last year and I have a job lined up in Paris as soon as I graduate. I can’t afford to fall in love with you, and I think I wouldn’t be able to avoid it. I’m sorry._

_jzimmerman@samwell.edu_ _: Yeah._

There was nothing more he wanted to say.

 

* * * * *

 

Athlete parties were always loud and dumb, but Jack was feeling this one even less than normal. This thing with the baker boy had him irritable, and he wouldn’t have come out except he’d kind of wanted the distraction.

It wasn’t working, and he checked his watch for the fifth time in twenty minutes and decided he’d had enough. He drained the last of his jungle juice and started to make his way to the door.

“-bout you, Jack?” he heard, and turned. Bittle unfolded from his seat in the circle of people playing some dumb drinking game and walked up to him.

“What?” he said.

“Would you rather…” Bitty said.

Jack grimaced. “I’m not really in the mood.”

Ignoring him, Bitty continued, “- have a temporary but passionate fling with someone, knowing from the beginning that it was doomed to end in a matter of months, or never start the whole thing in the first place?”

Jack met his eyes, stunned. Bitty looked back at him, only the hand fisted at his side betraying the nervousness behind his steady gaze.

 _This kid is way too cute to be this talented,_ he remembered, and had to think it was something of an understatement.

“The former,” he finally said.

Bitty’s breath left him in a relieved rush. “I think so too,” he said, grinning broadly.

 

They left the party and started off walking, but gradually their steps slowed until they were standing in place right there in the middle of the sidewalk. Jack was too enraptured staring at him to watch where he was going, and Bitty seemed to have the same problem.

“I have your number,” Jack said, smoothing his thumb over Bitty’s cheek.

“You do,” Bitty said, laughing. “Has that hint been bothering you?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” Jack said. “You’re such a tease.”

“I know,” Bitty said. “I’m sorry.” He bit his lip. “Believe me, if I had any sense of self-preservation I wouldn’t have said anything now, but I couldn’t…” He smiled up at Jack. “I changed my mind about what I can and can’t afford, I guess.”

“I’m worth it,” Jack said with more confidence than he felt.

Bitty laughed again. “I believe you,” he said.

Jack shook his head. “I can’t believe you have the time to captain men’s tennis, pass your classes, and bake all that ridiculous shit,” he said. “How the hell…?”

“I’m an overachiever,” Bitty said.

“And an under-baker,” Jack shot back.

Bitty playfully punched his shoulder. “I just like the pun! Don’t be snide.”

“I’ll be snide if I want to,” Jack said, and bottled up his words with a kiss when he made to answer.

Bitty melted into him, soft and warm and pliant in his arms.

“Come home with me,” Jack said.

“Alright,” Bitty agreed.

 

Bitty made cinnamon roll pancakes in the middle of the night in his underwear while Jack watched from his seat on the counter.

“I can’t believe you live alone,” Bitty said, shaking his head. “If I knew that before, I would have given in so long ago. This kitchen is mine now, you criminally neglect it.”

“Hey,” Jack said.

“I’ve seen the contents of your refrigerator, don’t even,” Bitty said, rolling his eyes.

Jack shrugged. Fair enough. “I have a meal plan,” he said. “Where do you usually do your baking?”

“Dex’s apartment,” Bitty said. “But he shares it with Nursey and they actually cook for themselves so sometimes it gets kind of cramped. Especially when I occupy it for weeks on end planning and baking two-tier watercolor drip cakes.” He grinned over his shoulder.

“I feel like I haven’t thanked you enough for that,” Jack said.

“You thanked me in the way that matters,” Bitty said, rubbing his fingers together in the universal symbol for big money.

“No, seriously,” Jack said. “When I say you saved my mother’s sanity, that’s not an exaggeration.”

Bitty smiled. “I’m glad. I’ve always liked your mother, the times I’ve met her.”

“She likes you too,” Jack said, remembering back. “She told me after that captains’ dinner last year.”

“Aw, that’s sweet,” Bitty said. He plated a few of the pancakes and drizzled cream cheese frosting over them, then carried it over to him. “Hey, I have a question.”

Jack parted his legs, letting him slide into place between them. “Yeah?”

“Why do you think we never did this before?” Bitty said.

Jack thought about this as he tore a strip of pancake off with his fingers and ate it. “Whoa, that’s good,” he said.

“Thanks,” Bitty said, smiling.

“And… I mean, I can’t speak for your side, but didn’t you say you weren’t interested because you don’t go for the stoic act?” Jack said.

Bitty nodded. “That was before I realized you’ve got a sense of humor, you just don’t talk in front of other people.”

“Right,” Jack said. “So you never showed any interest.” He paused. “…I’ve never had to initiate anything with anyone because people always let me know loud and clear that they want to date me.”

Bitty laughed, hand over his mouth.

Jack scowled. “It’s true,” he muttered.

“No, I know,” Bitty said, still laughing. “So you’re so hot that you’ve never had to actually ask anyone out before, is that it?”

Jack scowled harder.

“Would you have asked me out otherwise?” Bitty said. “I mean, were you interested? If I had flirted with you, would you have said yes?”

Jack looked down into his big, bright eyes. “I always wanted you to try,” he admitted. “But you never seemed…”

“Oh,” Bitty said, smiling.

 

In the morning, Jack half-woke when Bitty climbed over him to leave the bed, but it wasn’t until his foggy mind pieced together the sound of him buttoning up his shirt that he sat up.

“You leaving?” he said, voice gravelly.

Bitty smiled at him. “I have a baking commitment,” he said. “I’ve got deadlines, you know.”

Jack watched him fingercomb his hair into order. “You know,” he said. “What you said last night…”

“I was kidding,” Bitty said, but his voice was tentative enough that Jack didn’t lose his nerve.

“You don’t have to be,” Jack said. “Use my kitchen. I’ll give you a key.”

Bitty sat on the edge of the bed. “You sure?” he said.

“Yeah,” Jack said, resting his hand on Bitty's knee and rubbing circles with his thumb. “Look…”

Bitty looked at him curiously.

“I know you think I’m some kind of uncommunicative coward because I don’t know how to ask people out,” Jack said. “But it’s not that I’m scared of rejection, I just don’t see the point when the other person usually takes care of that part.”

“Okay…” Bitty said slowly, clearly wondering what he was building toward.

“I’ve only got four months with you,” Jack said. “I already like you more than I’ve liked anyone before, ever. I don’t want to have to waste time playing games about how long into our relationship it’s appropriate to take any steps. Take the key.”

“Okay,” Bitty whispered. He took Jack’s hand and toyed with his fingers, looking down at it. “I was thinking the same thing. I don’t want to feel self-conscious about getting serious fast with you. Can we just skip that part?”

“I want you to stay over here every night,” Jack said frankly. He took a deep breath. “I’d ask you to move in with me if it didn’t sound completely insane.”

“Ask me,” Bitty said, smiling.

“Move in with me,” Jack said.

“Alright,” Bitty said.

 

Nursey and Dex’s apartment was empty when they got there that evening, but the door opened while they were packing up all his baking supplies.

Dex turned the corner first. “Well don’t we look bright-eyed and bushy-tailed today,” he said, smirking at them. “Look who finally figured their shit out, Nursey!”

Nursey came in after him, his smile gentler than Dex’s, at odds with his cheerfully mocking words. “So no more pining from afar, then?”

“Oh my god, both of you can fuck right off,” Bitty said, words echoing in the cabinet he was buried in as he dug out his million different circular cake pans. “You mess with me about this, I’m cutting you off.”

Jack furrowed his brow.

“The baked goods,” Nursey clarified for him. “Not the sex.”

“God forbid,” Dex agreed.

Bitty emerged scowling. “I’m not having sex with either of them,” he told Jack. “They’re just being shitheads.”

“Wait, are you serious about cutting us off?” Dex said, finally registering what Bitty was doing there. “Where are the baked goods going?”

“Jack’s kitchen is bigger and less crowded than yours, so I’m going to do my baking at his place from now on,” Bitty said. “I’ll need you to keep being my drug-runners, so you’ll still get your fix.”

“Oh shit,” Nursey said. “All of our kitchen appliances are leaving. Literally the only thing we’ll be able to do is boil things.”

Bitty sighed. “I’m leaving you my miniature food processor and my extra ice cream machine, because I’m nice and I recognize this is short notice.”

“Your extra ice cream machine?” Jack said. And he said it like it was normal, which was a little concerning.

“You have no idea what you’ve got yourself into,” Dex told him.

 

“So what are you going to tell people about how you got together?” Dex asked over pizza and beer after the boys had helped move all of Bitty’s kitchen shit to Jack’s apartment. “As a matter of fact, how _did_ you get together?”

“Bitty picked me up at a jock party,” Jack said.

“Baby boy finally broke, huh?” Nursey said. “Was the big guy wearing that black button-down? Can’t blame you, if so.”

“Oh, piss off,” Bitty said, making a face at him.

“The jock thing isn’t a bad angle, though,” Nursey mused. “Gives you an explanation for familiarity besides baking his dad-cake.”

“Why do you always say that like it’s a normal thing?” Bitty said. “Dad-cake is not a thing.”

“True, though,” Jack said, chuckling and leaning back, rubbing Bitty’s ankle where he had his feet kicked up in Jack’s lap. “People won’t question that captains of different varsity teams hooked up.”

“I don’t know why we’d have to answer to anyone regardless,” Bitty said. “Let them come to whatever conclusions they want, I intend to stay aggressively noncommittal.”

“I just figured you’d want to head off suspicion by providing a reason so people don’t piece together you hooking up the week after your alter-ego publicly crushed on him,” Dex said.

“People are always publicly crushing on Jack and he doesn’t immediately date them,” Bitty said. “I’m hardly the first boy who answered that particular interview question that way.”

Jack scowled.

“He’s cute,” Nursey said, grinning at Jack.

“Stop hitting on my boyfriend,” Bitty said.

“Wow, he got to boyfriend status fast,” Dex said. “Slut.”

Bitty just rolled his eyes, which was just about the only thing that kept Jack from punching him.

“Anyway, though, I don’t think it’s enough to piece together my identity unless you’re like, already suspicious,” Bitty said. “In which case, whatever. I don’t care _that_ much if people figure out.”

“Alright,” Nursey said. “Good luck, then.”

“With what, fending off the invasive questions?” Bitty said.

“No, fending off the hordes of jealous fangirls,” Nursey said, laughing. “School heartthrob much?”

Bitty wrinkled his nose at him, and Jack scowled harder.

Nursey and Dex grinned at each other.

 

Jack brought him to the next barbecue at Ransom and Holster’s, which took place only a few days later.

“I should have baked something,” Bitty said as Jack led him around the house into the back garden, lips pursed.

“I thought you were trying to keep your identity on the down-low,” Jack said. “You bring a cake like that to a party, even my dumbass friends would figure it out.”

“I could have at least brought cookies,” Bitty said. “I’m a bad guest.”

“You’re not a guest, you’re my date,” Jack said, rolling his eyes. “Also, what archaic Martha Stewart instruction manual are you -”

Bitty elbowed him, smiling.

“Hey!” Holster said, waving at him from the grill. “And - Bitty?” He stared a little.

“Hey,” Jack said. “Good, you know each other.”

“Holster knows everyone,” Bitty said.

“More like Bitty knows everyone,” Holster said. “Since when were you two…?” He waved back and forth between them.

“Oh, just a short while,” Bitty said. “I love your porch furniture!”

Jack snorted. Aggressively noncommittal, right.

“Point taken,” Holster said. “Anyway, you probably know everyone here, right?” He turned and called. “Everyone knows Bitty, right?”

“Itty-Bitty! My fave miniature human,” Shitty said, flinging himself at Bitty and lifting him in an enormous hug. “Oh shit, fucking power couple!”

“Choking… me…” Bitty said, legs flailing impotently.

Jack considered rescuing him, but he had to get accustomed to the Shitty treatment sometime. “I’m going to get a beer,” he said, and walked off.

“Mean!” Bitty said.

 

“Hey, Jack? Can I ask you something?”

Jack looked up from his phone, frowning slightly at Bitty’s tentative tone. “Sure, anything.”

Bitty came into the bedroom, climbing into bed with him and sitting down facing him. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, but I found your pills in the medicine cabinet and I want to make sure I know - you know?”

“Yeah, of course,” Jack said. “Lexapro’s my daily SSRI and Ativan I take for special circumstances - when I have to give a presentation, make an important phone call, first day of classes, when I feel a panic attack coming on, that kind of thing.”

Bitty nodded.

“Is that what you wanted to know?” Jack said.

“Anything you want to tell me,” Bitty said frankly. “I don’t want to push, but I’d like to be informed so I don’t do or say the wrong thing.”

Jack smiled a little. He’d been diagnosed with anxiety for long enough, and gone through enough therapy, that he’d gotten over the phase of blaming other people for setting it off by this point. “Don’t worry about it.”

“But -”

“I’ll let you know at the time if anything you’re doing is making it worse,” Jack promised. “But I don’t want you to worry about it too much.”

Bitty wrinkled his nose. “I know you’re trying to make it easy for me, but you’re just making me feel helpless. Isn’t there anything I can do?”

Jack cocked his head, trying to remember the tactics the therapist had suggested to his mother when he’d first been diagnosed. “If you ever need to talk to me about something, tell me what it is up front, don’t allude vaguely to _needing to talk_.”

“That’s helpful,” Bitty said, perking up. “Anything else?”

“Don’t tell me I have nothing to worry about,” Jack said. “Don’t issue ultimatums.”

“Okay,” Bitty said. “Can I write this down?”

Jack laughed and tugged Bitty into his lap. “If you want, I can get some book recommendations from my mom, I know she’s read zillions. But seriously, kid, you’re doing fine.”

“Okay,” Bitty said, smiling and cuddling into him. “But also, yes to the book thing.”

Jack pressed his lips to Bitty’s hair and smiled.

 

Whiskey gave a laugh next to Jack.

Jack glanced over, raising his eyebrows.

“The WAGs absorbed your boyfriend,” Whiskey said.

Jack turned his head, scanning through the stands until he found Bitty in deep conversation with Johnson’s girlfriend. From the hand gestures, Jack assumed it was something about the proper technique for kneading bread dough.

“Do you still call them WAGs if none of them are wives?” Jack said.

“Gs sounds dumb,” Whiskey said. “BAGs?”

Jack laughed. “The Gs absorbed my boyfriend to evolve into BAGs,” he agreed.

“Is the captain joking during a game?” Tango whispered to Whiskey, loudly. “Have we entered an alternate dimension?”

“You’re asking the wrong dude,” Whiskey said. “Check with Johnson if you want theories on the captain softening from rabid drill sergeant to… slightly less rabid drill sergeant.”

“If you distract our goalie mid-game to talk about stupid shit like that, you’ll find my mood rapidly trending in the other direction,” Jack said.

“It’s intermission, relax,” Whiskey said, rolling his eyes.

“I’m not going to risk it,” Tango decided. “I’ll wait until after.”

“Smart thinking,” Jack said. He glanced back into the stands, smiling when he saw that Bitty had amassed an audience as he demonstrated some other indecipherable baking technique.

Bitty noticed his gaze and broke off his lecture to wave both hands down at him.

Jack nodded back, still smiling as he put on his helmet to go back out there.

“Seriously, alternate dimension,” Tango whispered.

 

“Can I ask you something?” Jack asked Bitty, lazily sifting through his hair as he read with his head in Jack’s lap on the quad.

“Mmhm?”

“Why didn’t you go straight to pastry school?” Jack asked. “You’re so talented, I don’t really get why you bothered with a bachelor's. You’re obviously not going to need it on your resume.”

Bitty sat up. “Did you ever read my origin story on the site?”

“Someone told me about it,” Jack said.

“I got kind of disillusioned with baking in high school because of how much of a chore it became,” Bitty said. “There was all this pressure and people were always hounding me. It was bad enough that I decided I didn’t want to do it for a living, if that’s the life I had to look forward to.”

“Yeah,” Jack said.

“But I really missed it, you know?” Bitty said. “So I started baking for Nursey and Dex, and they came up with the idea of the site - Nursey designed it and Dex coded it - with the core premise being the secret identity aspect. I liked that I felt less guilty about the whole thing.”

Jack nodded.

“So I decided to go to pastry school so I can become good enough that I’m able to take the jobs I want and refuse the ones I don’t want, the way I do now,” Bitty said. “I still love baking when I can do it on my own terms, and I think I can get that with a little more training.”

“You’re getting that now,” Jack pointed out.

“It’s a side-gig now, I want it to become big enough to support myself on,” Bitty said. “I don’t get so many orders that I could afford to turn them down if I wanted to make a living from it. I need to expand my baking repertoire.”

“That makes sense,” Jack said. “Can I ask another question?”

“Go for it,” Bitty said.

“Why Nursey and Dex?” he said. “What’s the deal there?”

Bitty grimaced.

“Ex-boyfriend?” Jack said.

“Uh, yeah,” Bitty said. “Should I have divulged that earlier? It never came up, but maybe that’s just a handy excuse.”

Jack chuckled. “I’m not jealous,” he said. “Which one? Both?”

Bitty smacked his arm. “Don’t be terrible,” he said. “Nursey.”

“He’s definitely the hot one,” Jack agreed. “Good call.”

“Leave me alone,” Bitty said. “Jerkface. I wish I knew how to quit you.”

“Don’t be terrible,” Jack said, winding him in with an arm around his shoulders and pressing a kiss into his hair.

“No, shan’t,” Bitty said.

 

Jack glanced up from his history reading at a knock on the door. “Is this for you?” he said.

“Not unless Nursey’s two hours early,” Bitty said. “Can you get it? My hands are full.”

Jack went to the door and swung it open. “Hey,” he said.

“Hey boy hey,” Shitty said. “I was walking past your place and I realized what a goddamn hermit you’ve become since you shacked up with Itty-Bits, so I thought I’d drop by and remind you that _you have other friends, Zimmermann_.”

“My bad!” Bitty called from inside.

“Not your fault he likes you better,” Shitty said.

“Hey, I didn’t say it,” Jack said.

“Rude,” Shitty said. “So… can I come in…?” He raised his eyebrows expectantly.

Jack looked back over his shoulder. “Can Shitty come in?”

“Okay, I mock, but I’m actually concerned now,” Shitty said. “Why are you asking your boyfriend permission to see your friends?”

“I like that you’re probing about my abusive relationship where my abusive boyfriend can hear,” Jack said. “Very tactful.”

“Shut up,” Shitty said. “Bitty?”

“If the alternative is you thinking I’m policing Jack’s friendships, then yes, Shitty can come in,” Bitty said. “Just make sure to extract a blood vow of secrecy.”

Jack stepped aside and let Shitty in.

“Holy shit,” Shitty said, when he saw what Bitty was doing.

“Galaxy cakes,” Bitty said, pleased. “A+ effect for C+ effort.”

“How do you even…?” Shitty said, circling the cake with wide eyes.

“You make a bunch of different colored mirror glazes and pour them over, smooth it out, and top it with edible luster,” Bitty said. “Et voila!”

“Holy shit,” Shitty said again. “Wait, are you…”

“Finally put it together, did you?” Jack deadpanned.

Shitty clapped his hand over his forehead. “I feel so much better now! Fuck, I thought you were -”

“You don’t have to keep saying it, he gets it,” Jack said.

Bitty laughed. “It’s fine, babe. But yes, he was making sure it was okay to reveal my double identity to you, since it’s a closely guarded secret and all. Don’t spread it around?”

“Hey, of course not,” Shitty said. “I’m great with secrets. Jack, tell him.”

“It’s true,” Jack admitted. “Shocking, but true.”

“Hey!” Shitty said.

 

“You got an email,” Jack said when Bitty’s phone chirped next to him with its special _Under the Counter_ chime.

“Check it?” Bitty called from the kitchen.

Jack unlocked his phone. “Wedding cake,” he said.

“Aaaargh,” Bitty said. “Describe it?”

“Three tiers, chocolate cake topped with coffee buttercream, Kahlua ganache, and hazelnut mousse.”

“AAARGH,” Bitty said.

“Problem?” Jack said, smiling.

“I love making wedding cakes, but it’s not a small project and your kitchen isn’t up to it,” Bitty said. “I would need a whole other refrigerator, so much more counter space… I mean, I wish I had a commercial kitchen, but I’d settle for any kitchen with an island.” He sighed.

“So do you just not make wedding cakes?” Jack said.

“Not since I’ve lived at home,” Bitty said. “I actually rented an AirBnB for the cake for your father’s birthday, did you know?”

“Really?” Jack said. “Shit, I didn’t pay you enough for that.”

“Believe me, you paid me enough,” Bitty said, laughing. “But yeah, I always have to turn down wedding cake requests, and I hate it because it’s every aesthetic baker’s dream.”

Jack hummed thoughtfully.

“I recognize that look in your eyes,” Bitty said. “That’s your _I’m going to spend shit-tons of money over a minor inconvenience_ expression. You’re not allowed to rent me a commercial kitchen just so I can make a cake, Zimmermann.”

“Of course not,” Jack said. “Don’t be absurd.”

Bitty looked skeptically at him, but didn’t press it. “Reject it, I guess. Write a special note about how sorry I am, though?”

“Will do,” Jack said, clicking ‘Accept Request’ and writing in the special notes: _Looking forward to it!_

 

That Friday, Jack pulled up his Cadillac next to Bitty on his walk back from class.

“Hey babe,” Jack said, looking down the not-inconsiderable distance to Bitty from the high angle.

“Hi Jack,” said Jenny, and Mandy waved.

“Hey. Can I steal him for a spontaneous date?” he said.

Jenny giggled. “I’ll allow it,” she said.

“Ooh, sure,” Bitty said. “Am I dressed appropriately?”

“Yeah, it’s casual as hell,” Jack said.

“You’re getting so many boyfriend points from my friends right now, you don’t even know,” Bitty said, climbing into the passenger seat and buckling in.

“True,” Mandy agreed. “So dreamy.”

“Glad you approve,” Jack said.

“Bye!” Bitty said, and they pulled out into the road.

 

“I’m serious,” Bitty said as they got out of the car. “My friends are even more in love with you now. They’re going to murder me to get to you.”

Jack rolled his eyes.

“Well, Jenny won’t, but Mandy might,” Bitty said. He looked around. “Where are we? Oh my god, if I’m officially meeting your parents right now with no warning wearing this t-shirt, we’re going to have _words_ , Zimmermann.”

Jack chuckled. “They’re not home,” he said, and he led Bitty around the house to the back garden. “First present is here.” He brought him to the pool house, unlocking it with the key on his ring and leading him inside.

“I gotta say, this is the first time I’ve been gifted a pool house,” Bitty said. “How rich are you, exactly?”

“It’s not exactly a commercial kitchen, but it’s bigger than the one in my apartment,” Jack said, ignoring him. “You like it?”

“Oh,” Bitty said, open-mouthed. He walked around the island slowly, opening the refrigerator (empty) and the cabinets (stocked). “It’s lovely, but -”

“Wait, don’t say anything yet,” Jack said, and pulled him out and up the walk to the main house.

“What?” Bitty said, and Jack propelled him into the house.

“This kitchen is the real present,” he said.

“Oh my god,” Bitty said, staring around like he was too overwhelmed to know where to start. Jack watched him as he took in the room, from the rack of shiny Mauviel copper pots hanging above the stove to the marble counters to the enormous chrome refrigerator. “You have a _proving drawer_ ,” he said shakily.

Jack stood back, letting him explore the whole place. His wondrous expression may have been the cutest thing Jack had ever seen.

“Oh my god,” Bitty said again when he saw the knife block of Wusthofs, and again at the convection oven.

“Oh yeah, and I actually accepted the wedding cake order, and my parents are also out of town that weekend,” Jack added.

“Oh my god,” Bitty said _again_ , clapping his hands over his mouth.

“Are you crying?” Jack said, laughing.

“Shut up!” Bitty said. He gave a wet laugh. “I can’t believe you’re giving me a task that requires some fifteen-odd hours of my labor as a gift.”

“Do you like it?” he said.

“I _love_ it,” Bitty said, flinging his arms around Jack’s neck. “It’s perfect. _You’re_ perfect.”

“Just don’t tell Mandy,” Jack said, pleased.

Bitty laughed and kissed him deeply.

 

Jack was reading on the quad waiting for Bitty’s lit class to let out when Ransom dropped to a seat beside him. “Hey,” he said.

“Hey,” Jack said.

“Where’s your better half?” Ransom said. “Haven’t seen you alone in… weeks.”

Jack checked his watch. “Ask again in five minutes,” he said without shame.

“Huh,” Ransom said. “Hey, I’ve been wondering - can I get in on your boyfriend discount for one of those bitchin’ drip cakes for Holster’s birthday? Those suckers ain’t cheap.”

Jack looked at him.

“What, did you really think you were being subtle?” Ransom said.

“How’d you figure it out?” Jack asked, closing his book.

“Timeline,” Ransom said. He ticked his fingers off one by one as he spoke. “You contacted Under the Counter about a cake in February. Under the Counter flirted with you via interview two weeks later. You hooked up with Bitty at a jock party in March. You’ve gotten serious with him fast. Under the Counter is moving to Paris in the summer.”

“Fair,” Jack said.

“So that’s gotta be bumming you out,” Ransom said, in his tactless but perceptive way.

Jack shrugged. “I try not to think about it,” he said.

“Right,” Ransom said. “You’re just falling madly in love with him for four months. Sounds like a great fucking plan, man.”

Jack scowled at him. “Do you need something?”

Ransom’s expression was… strangely tentative. “I’ve never seen you this happy,” he said. “Nobody wants to see their friend get his heart broken.”

Jack’s throat tightened. “It’s not his fault,” he muttered. “I got myself into this.”

“I don’t get it,” Ransom said. “Why -”

“Because I’m a masochist,” Jack said, voice tight. “Are we done?”

“No, not that,” Ransom said, rolling his eyes. “I get why you went for it. I’m asking why you think you have to break up.”

Jack stared at him. “He’s moving to Paris,” he said. “I’m not staying in a long-distance relationship with someone across the goddamn ocean on an indefinite basis.”

“I never said you should,” Ransom said calmly. “I’m saying, move to Paris.”

This time, Jack was struck speechless.

Ransom shrugged. “Why not?”

“Are you serious?” Jack said. “My whole life is here - my family, my friends, my culture, my job prospects. I don’t speak the right French, I don’t have any qualifications there. I just spent four years getting a degree that doesn’t -” He ran his hand through his hair. “There’s nothing for me in Paris besides a boy I’ve been with for four months.”

Ransom shrugged again. “Plus the whole life you could spend with him,” he said.

Jack faltered. He felt strangely out of sync, like he’d forgotten who or where he was for a moment.

“Hey Bitty,” Ransom said.

“Hi,” Bitty said, sitting next to Jack. “Jesus, what’d you do to him?”

Jack looked at her. “What?”

“You look like you’ve been whacked with a two-by-four,” he said. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” he said distantly. “It’s fine.”

 

_The whole life you could spend with him._

In bed that night, Jack looked over at Bitty, peacefully sleeping next to him, and let out a shaky breath.

“I want to marry this boy,” he whispered into the silence, testing out the words, shocked by how true they rang when he put voice to them.

 

He got home from econ class the next day and found Bitty adorably smudged with flour, chocolate smeared all down his apron.

“You’re a cliche, Bittle,” Jack said, wrapping his arms around his waist from behind.

“Mm, I know,” Bitty said. “Taste.” He lifted a spoon to his lips, and he opened them to accept a mouthful of some kind of chocolate marshmallow-y fluff. “Too sweet?”

“Not if it’s being paired with dark chocolate cake,” Jack said.

“Good,” Bitty said, pleased. “How was class?”

“Boring,” Jack said.

“I mean, it’s philosophy, that’s a given,” Bitty said, snickering when Jack pinched him.

Jack slipped his hand up Bitty’s shirt, settling it comfortably over his flat belly. “Hey,” he said. “I have a question.”

“What’s up?” Bitty craned his neck to look at him, sensing his seriousness.

“Would you rather,” Jack started, and Bitty laughed, “break up with your boyfriend who you’re madly in love with because you’re moving to Paris…”

The humor wiped off Bitty’s expression. “Jack,” he murmured. “You can’t ask me to -”

“ _Or,_ have him move to Paris with you, with the understanding that you’ll move back to the US once your culinary education is over,” Jack said.

Bitty gasped. He ripped out of Jack’s arms, spinning to look at him. “Are - do you - ?”

Jack raised an eyebrow, giving him the time to catch up.

“Are you sure?” Bitty said. “It could be years, you know.”

“What are a few years compared to a lifetime?” Jack asked, and Bitty shrieked and threw himself into his arms so passionately Jack nearly toppled backwards before he caught himself.

“Yes, yes, yes,” Bitty said. “Come with me, I would rather you come with me.” He peppered Jack’s face with kisses. “Of course I want you to come with me.”

Jack locked one arm around his waist to steady him and scrabbled to turn off the oven burner with the other. “Of course I want to come with you,” he said, carrying Bitty into the bedroom and dropping him on the bed.

 

They waited until Alicia and Bob were a few glasses of wine deep before Jack cleared his throat. “Maman, Papa?”

They both looked up.

“Bitty and I have something to tell you,” he said.

Alicia gasped, hands over her mouth. “You have an STD!” She covered her eyes, too upset to face them.

“What? No,” Jack said. “We use protection.”

“Thanks,” Bitty said, patting his hand.

“Sorry.” Jack narrowed his eyes. “Also, mildly offensive.”

“I’m sorry, but a mother worries,” Alicia said, genuinely remorseful. “I – Oh god, you’re married.”

“What?” Jack said, jerking back a little. “Why - no!”

“Is it drugs?” Bob said, face stormy. “It’s drugs, isn’t it. I should have known that baking site was just a front for -”

Fortunately, Bitty’s response to think was hysterical laughter rather than getting offended. “I wish,” he said. “I wouldn’t need to move to Paris if I were running a drug empire here.”

Alicia and Bob looked at each other, clearly brainstorming another horror Jack could be inflicting on them.

“You’re being ridiculous,” Jack said. “I’m moving with Bitty to Paris. That’s all.”

“Oh!” Alicia said, relief blooming across her face. “Oh, that’s wonderful!”

“Really?” Bitty said uncertainly. “You’re not mad?”

“Mad?” Alicia said. “Why would I be mad?” She smiled. “I’m so happy you’re finding a way to stay together. You’re such a delightful couple, you deserve to be happy.”

“Happily not-married, apparently,” Jack deadpanned.

Alicia waved a hand. “You’re too young to get married,” she said. “You’re never too young to move to Paris. I can’t wait to visit.” She sighed dreamily.

Jack looked at Bob for some explanation of this logic.

“You can always move back from Paris,” Bob said. “It’s harder to get un-married.”

“And even harder to get un-herpes’d,” Bitty chimed in cheerily.

 

“Holster’s getting weepy,” Ransom warned them when they entered his backyard. “Steer clear.”

“Thanks,” Jack said. “Where can I put this?” He shifted his grip on the huge white box he was carrying.

“Depends on the contents,” Ransom said. “Are we talking baked goods or live animal?”

“Live goods,” Jack said, at the same time as Bitty saying, “Baked animal.”

Ransom laughed. “Okay, creepy fucks. Dessert table is over there.”

Bitty cleared a space on the table and started undoing the tabs on the sides of the box.

“I recognize that box!” March said. “There’s an UnderBaker original in there.”

“You’re not wrong,” Jack said, and he lifted out the cake and set it on the table.

Everyone gathered around.

For once, Bitty had gone simple with a rectangular sheet cake. He hadn’t frosted the sides so the neat layers showed beautifully, a gradient from yellow to dark brown only separated by layers of creamy white mascarpone frosting.

The same frosting covered the top, on which he had iced in flowing coffee-brown calligraphy: _The UnderBaker et ses lionceau déménagent à Paris en juillet. Nous vous aimons tous et allons pleurer la nuit de vous manquer, surtout Jack. Bisous et câlins!_

March gasped.

“What does it say?” Shitty asked.

“The UnderBaker and his lion cub are moving to Paris in July,” March read off. “We love you all and we will be crying at night from missing you, especially Jack. Kisses and hugs.”

“Wait -” Shitty said.

“- _What_?!” April said.

Ransom smiled.

“Oh my god,” Holster said.

“You’re Under the Counter?” said Ollie, stunned.

“You’re moving to Paris??” said Shitty, punching Jack’s shoulder.

“You know that lionceau has connotations of, like, boy-toy, right?” March said.

“I’m aware,” Bitty said.

Jack shook his head at him.

“Yes, I’m the UnderBaker,” Bitty said, wincing a little. “And yes, Jack is following me to Paris to be my stay-at-home boy-toy until he finds a job that wants to hire an underqualified shmuck who speaks _Quebecois_.” He mimed a shudder.

Jack pinched his side.

“Holy fuck, that’s awesome!” Shitty said. “Dude, that’s - that’s awesome!”

“Yeah,” Jack said. “I’ve got some shit to figure out, but yeah. It’s awesome.”

 

Bitty come up behind Jack and wrapped his arms around his neck, hooking his chin over his shoulder. “Proof something for me?”

“Sure,” he said.

Bitty fetched his laptop and set it in front of him.

**_Untitled_ **

_Alas, mes petits chéris, but all good things must come to an end, and my time as your notorious masked baker is one of those good things. I warned you months ago that I would be graduating and moving to Paris in the summer, and sadly, I think you all know the commencement calendar._

_I considered not revealing my identity even after graduation, leaving me nothing more than a misty, mysterious figure in the night, a tale passed down to the incoming freshmen until I turn into a nebulous fable of yore, the plausibility of which becomes the subject of endless debate over goblets of mead in ye olde tavern. The romantic side of me loves that idea, clearly. But I thought it over and it doesn’t seem possible to keep things under wraps indefinitely, particularly as I will actually be moving to Paris and I can’t hope nobody notices, considering the wildly successful pastry chef I hope to become._

_So I’ll do the reveal, because I want the information to come out on my own terms. Anyway, I know for a fact some people already deduced it on their own (largely thanks to my public declaration of infatuation with my now-boyfriend) so it feels like my own cleverness is catching up with me now._

_Without further ado -_

_I’m Eric Bittle, the short blonde American Studies major and men’s tennis captain you may have seen around campus. I’ve loved being the UnderBaker for the last few years and I really hope you remember me as fondly. If you’re ever in Paris, come find me - I’ll hook you up._

“I know it could use some editing,” Bitty said.

“Nah,” Jack said. “It’s perfect.”


End file.
